Somewhere North of Here
by Insert Valid Author Name
Summary: Alduin has fled. The Stormcloak and the Imperial Armies are at a standstill, an uneasy truce being negotiated at the demand of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. The Guilds of Skyrim are in turmoil, most limping on after betrayals and near defeat. And all the while, a new threat rises in the North, one that fights from Dusk till Dawn, one that even the Dragonborn will be forced to brave.
1. Foreword

**FOREWORD**

If you want to skip straight into the story, move onto the next chapter.

Hi. My name is _INSERT_VALID_AUTHOR_NAME_ , and let me start this off by apologizing. I've begun four serious stories, each with their own plot and support begging me to finish them. I've let everyone down. That being said, this story is being written because… well, I had to. It's been festering in my mind for a while, ever since two separate incidents, the first being that I discovered fanfiction and the second being the day that a friend introduced me to a simple game known as _The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim._ I _needed_ to at least start this, because I owe it to myself to carter to my favorite two things in the world – reading, and gaming.

This story will span the events of _The Elder Scrolls V: Dawnguard,_ and the main quest of _The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim._ Elements of _The Elder Scrolls V: Dragonborn_ will make themselves known as well, but truthfully I'll try to keep things as realistic as possible, or at least as realistic as you can get with a story about dragons, vampires, love, family, magic, adventure, pain, hatred, and strength. This story isn't about a Dragonborn who's as common as a steel-forged sword; this story is about a Dragonborn who's suffered, whose entire reason for living has been stolen from him at some point and is in the process of recovering. This is the story of a Dragonborn, who for every ounce of suffering he's gone through, he'll get an equal return in happiness and love. This story is about Dremmus Rahjoore, a Dragonborn character that I will _never_ dare to create in a video game. I owe it to myself after creating a character that if it were to be included in the future lore of Bethesda Softworks, I'm pretty sure her name would be cursed upon forever. Dremmus is the antithesis of that character; even his name is a reference to that.

That being said, thank you for suffering through this author's ramblings. Thank you, my old followers, for staying by my side throughout these three years of development. Thank you, my new readers, for sticking by my side through this completely unnecessary message. And thank you all, for giving me the honor of having my words reach you all, even if its through a story that is based off of the story owned by a company that makes its money by distracting us all from the harshness that is reality.

Joke's on them though. I pirated Skyrim, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Love you guys, and thanks for reading!


	2. Tidings of War, Shadows in the Light

_Somewhere North of here…_

 _Chapter 1 – Tidings of War, Shadows in the light_

 _Whiterun, Two years since the appearance of Alduin_

… **ooOoo…**

 _My Dearest Harbinger,_

 _It has been almost a year since you left the joy and warmth of the Halls of Jorvaskr, and yet I feel that eternity is not apt enough a word to express how long the passage of time has felt. News of your departure to follow the teachings of the Greybeards has caused both turmoil and calm in the people of Whiterun, even as our attempts to quell the whispers fail spectacularly, as per your request in your last letter._

 _The Companions have fared well under Aela's temporal leadership. Between her and the other members of the Circle, we continue to operate as we have, taking odd jobs and making sure coin never stops flowing in the Hall. Of course, both Farkas and Vilkas argue that it's not the gold, but rather the mead that should be kept in highest priority rather than the funds to procure it. It still makes me laugh and smile, no matter how many times the former will boast loudly of their belief._

 _And yet, not all is well. Njada has become rather restless of late, venturing out more and more often, spending more time out clearing bandit camps and raiding old mines with the Whiterun Guards rather than here at the Mead Hall. Aela suspects that she is training herself in killing people, rather than creatures, in the hope that one day she will be able to join the Stormcloak cause, abandoning us in the process. That belief is only cemented by the fact that what little time she spends in Jorvaskr, she can be found at the Shrine of Talos, listening to the loud ramblings that Heimskr calls preaching._

 _Your home here in is still in good condition, you need not worry. I… have spent more time there instead of Jorvaskr, perusing the tomes you have collected and just… well, lollygagging for lack of a better word. I confess that I do feel slight guilt in the fact that I find more comfort here than in Jorvaskr – I cannot wait until you take me to your Manor in Hjaalmarch. The amount of work you claim to have put into the home makes me anticipate with much fervor the day we go home together._

 _There are… other things I must speak about in this letter, things that I fear are just open signs of the war that looms on the horizon. Ever since the temporal defeat of Alduin at your hands on the Throat of the World, the dragon attacks have lessened dramatically, as you already know. That, however, is not the greatest concern that Whiterun has at its forefront. Recently, vampire attacks have occurred almost every night in most of the towns that occupy the holds. It is not only Whiterun hold either; news has reached us of attacks occurring in the rest of Skyrim as well. Hjaalmarch, the Pale, and Falkreath Hold have suffered the worst; Morthal is naught but a ghost town now, the people of the hold evacuating to Haafingar Hold and Whiterun. Ironically, it seems that Dawnstar has held its own; your silent protectors have done their job well of keeping the city safe. Lydia sends reports that vampires have attempted to skirmish Windstad Manor as well, but between her and the Brotherhood assassins nothing drastic or too dangerous has occurred._

 _Not all hope is lost, however. An order has surfaced recently, an order of Vampire Hunters that are based out in the Rift. They call themselves the Dawnguard, and their leader, Isran, was sighted in Riften asking Jarl Laila Law-Giver in person for assistance in restoring Fort Dawnguard. His senior members have spread the word as well, recruiting heavily in all the holds and bringing the fight to the vampires. His efforts seemed to have yielded little result, but morale is slowly turning in our favor as the piles of ashes of dead Vampires grow ever-larger. One of his troops, an orc by the name of Durak was here in Whiterun not a few days ago, asking for you. Apparently your prowess as a warrior has reached their ears and made you a desirable possible new recruit. The Vigilants of Stendarr have come calling as well – their Keeper, Vigilant Carcette sent you a missive that I'll enclose in this letter._

 _There is something else as well. Alduin was sighted again. There was no mistaking the Black Dragon, nor the summoning of Fire and Stone from the heavens. Ironically, however, he was alone, unaccompanied by his minions when Stormcloak and Imperial troops caught sight of him in the Rift. It was one of the few times that troops on opposing sides worked together to bring the terrible foe down, even if they failed at that task. Your shout, the Dragonrend (was that what you called it? I cannot remember) was sorely needed at that moment. The troops were annihilated, I'm saddened to say, but a missive from the Karthspire arrived yesterday – Delphine has taken in the survivors and begun to train them in the art of Dragon Hunting. I shall seal the written testimony of one of the soldiers in this letter as well._

 _Dremmus… you are known by many titles in Skyrim. You are Thane. You are Harbinger. You are Listener. You are Guildmaster. You are Nightingale. You were Archmage (until you gave the title to Tolfdir). You are_ Dragonborn, _the_ Dovahkiin. _And yet, the one title that matters to me at this precise moment is the one I gave you personally after you saved my life, took me under your wing, and showed me what love was after years of being alone._

 _The title of Father._

 _For the first time in many months, I confess to you that I am afraid. This past month, I have been plagued by nightmares, dreams of you falling through the stars, of rivulets of blood flowing from your dead body as ravens peck at your corpse and those surrounding you in the remains of a great battle. I see the Blades, standing behind you as is their ancient duty of Dragonguard, only for their swords to be coated in blood as they stab you relentlessly, ruthlessly in clear betrayal. I see a goddess, a Daedra, her face of beauty marred by tears of sadness as she holds a bundle close to her bosom._

 _The last vision, the one that wakes me every night, is the worst, I think. I… I see you, wearing a crown of jagged bones, standing alone against a horde of monsters, of creatures, of men and mer. And then I see the same thing, except you are no longer alone. A woman joins your side, her face uncannily similar to yours. A dragon stands behind you, his flesh rotting and his scales falling off and dripping with an unfamiliar fluid. And from the skies, a blade of light falls in front of you – you grasp it, roar, and charge at the masses, the Dragon and Woman running right beside you. And as you charge, I see more people join in – I see myself, I see a woman with green eyes like emeralds, I see the same goddess from earlier fall from the heavens and join you on Mundus._

 _And then I wake up. I have communed with Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, who has relocated here, to Whiterun instead of Solitude. She has given me much advice regarding these visions. She says that the visions are only things that_ may _happen, merely giving clues as to what could come in the future. She also claims that it is because of my spiritual relation to you, and the events of your past, that have allowed me these glimpses into the plans of Time itself. I find myself more concerned, however, that she speaks of your past as if she knows, or has known you intimately. Father, her visions are frightening in their precision._

 _I know not how to end this letter, so I'll do so with this. Father, please, come back soon. You are sorely needed here – I need you, but more importantly,_ Skyrim _needs you. I hope that the answers you sought a year ago when you made your pilgrimage have been found, because I finally cannot hold my pleas back, and for that, I am sorry. Please, father, come back home. The people call for Dremmus Rahjoore – they call for their Dragonborn hero, they call for a stop to the Vampire menace, but for once, I care not about their requests. All I care about is for the return of my father, the return of the man who saved my life from a giant's club, who visited me every day for three months when I was recovering, who not only taught me how to fight so that I could live, but also gave me the most important lesson of my life – you taught me_ how _to live. Please, father, come home._

 _With all my love, and all my heart,_

 _Ria_

 _P.S.: I've taken the liberty of keeping a tally of all the gold that you owe me. Jenassa's monthly fare for taking your mail up and down the mountain has become rather costly, even if she's one of the most capable people I've met. I swear, everything I make in the jobs for the Companions is all spent on her. At least it's only once a month. Still, it is worth the price to see your words written down and answering my own._

… **ooOoo…**

 _How many times have I read this letter? How is it possible that for all its darkness, I can still find that the words inside still bring a smile to face as I imagine Ria's face when I show up out of nowhere?_

The still-smiling Dragonborn glanced at the gates in front of him, the stonework unchanged in the year he'd been gone. True, by the time he left for High Hrothgar, he hadn't been spending that much time in Whiterun as compared to Windstad Manor, but it was still gladdening to see that one of his favorite cities in all of Skyrim still stood strong against the dragons, even without him.

"A coin for your thoughts, Dragonborn?"

Dremmus' ruminations were broken by a single guard keeping watch at the gate, standing in the shadows next to the wooden doors themselves and causing Dremmus to raise a single eyebrow. "I'm surprised people still recognize me," he said.

"You shouldn't be, my Lord," came the answer, "Even though it has been too long since you departed, the people will still remember and call for you. Welcome back, sir."

"Thank you," said Dremmus. "Key to the gate hasn't changed, right?"

"No sir, go right on in."

Dremmus did so, walking up to the doors and pushing them open with a mighty creak. Immediately, the sounds of the most traffic-heavy city in all of Skyrim were thrust upon him. Right in front of him was Adrianne Avenicci, hammering away at her forge on some project or other, perhaps filling in a project for the Imperial Army. Directly across from Warmaiden's, the Drunken Huntsman was filled with activity, a group of hunters hoisting their empty packs and full quivers on their backs. Dremmus closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him – the shouting of Heimskr, the laughing of children, the yelling of merchants selling their wares, the smells of Arcadia's Cauldron, the singing of the bard Mikael…

Yup, he was home.

Dremmus opened his eyes and grinned, walking up the street. All too soon, he was standing in the living room of Breezehome, the small house he'd been gifted after becoming Thane of Whiterun, more than a year and a half ago. The small fire in the pit was smoldering, the coals giving off a small amount of heat that felt like a blazing inferno after being used to the intense cold of the Throat of the World, and by consequence High Hrothgar. On the right was the massive bookcase that he himself had practically redone from the ground up, as whereas before it only had three shelves that were around four feet long from side to side, but now covered half of the wall and was filled to the brim with books and scrolls that he'd collected ever since he'd been given the place. The wall on the left was left slightly clear, since the stairs to the second floor and master bedroom were located there, but right next to the front door there was a small table in the corner with two chairs. Under the stairs, already in the kitchen area, was a small pile of firewood, and to the right of the stairs was a long table that was mostly clear of stuff, though Dremmus imagined that it would be filled with food soon enough.

Setting his pack down next to the door and setting his sword in the rack nailed right into the wall, Dremmus moved into his home. His first order of business was to grab one of the pieces of firewood from under the stairs and put it in the almost-lit fire. Crouching next to the pit, he cupped his hands over his mouth.

" _Yol,"_ he whispered into his hands, and immediately the fire sprang to life. Grabbing more firewood, he fed the fire, letting it grow at its own pace. When the smoke started to become a problem, he moved over to the front door, throwing it wide-open and leaving it that way. He then grabbed his pack and moved upstairs, taking his sword with him – there was no way he was going to leave the Ebony Blade next to an open door where anybody could just reach in and grab it. Once upstairs, he glanced into the room right next to the stairs, noting the pieces of armor and clothing that littered the floor with a fond smile; it seemed that Ria had never culled her bad habit of leaving stuff on the floor.

Then, he reached the master bedroom – his room. Closing the door and throwing his pack on the bed, he quickly joined it, his back hitting the straw mattress with a small bounce. Stretching, he grinned at the feeling – after an entire year of sleeping on the stone beds in High Hrothgar, the thin straw supported by wood felt like a cloud.

"Til los nid staad med hofkiin," he said. _There's no place like home._

He got up again, taking the rolled up clothes inside his pack and setting them aside for now – they'd need to be washed and ironed later anyways, so there wasn't any point in storing them yet. In the meantime, he shrugged out of the Greybeard robe his teachers had bestowed to him, his basic leather armor soon following, leaving him bare-chested and showing his multiple scars to the world, including the patch of blackened veins leading to his heart. Removing his gauntlets, he bent down to remove his boots as well when the bedroom door burst open and he barely straightened in time to catch a blur in his arms.

A happy yell left Ria's mouth as Dremmus hugged her, picking her up and spinning her as he laughed with his adopted daughter. "You're back!" she cried. "Divines blessings, you're back! You're here!"

Dremmus grinned as he set her back on her feet, his eyes shining as he let her step out of his hug. "Well I certainly couldn't disappoint you after you asked so nicely in your last letter," he said. "Let me take a look at you… you're back to wearing your old armor?"

Ria blushed embarrassedly. "It's only for training," she argued. "I like the armor you made for me, but even Eorlund Gray-Mane has trouble repairing it when it gets damaged, so I only wear it when I'm taking up jobs!"

Dremmus grinned. "Well it helps that I'm the only person in all of Skyrim that can use dragon scales in forging," he said. "Still, I'm surprised that you can even damage the armor. Just what have you been fighting, Giants and Draugr Overlords?"

"That was one time!"

"No dragons?"

"No!" Ria pouted at her father. "You never let me."

"And with good reason," he said. "Even I have a little trouble with them, and I harvest their bodies for materials." He smiled at her. In truth, he wasn't worried for her, not overly, since he knew that she could take of herself – he trained her after all. Even so, there would always be a part of his heart and mind that would stress out whenever she fought. It only took one mistake to claim a life.

Ria, however, was smarter than most, he knew. The young imperial had been considered a warrior even before he met her when she was sixteen almost two years ago. After he'd joined the Companions and he began to train her, her skills and expertise in the blade had only grown by leaps and bounds. Even now he could see that she'd taken to his lessons well, since the one-sided dragon bone blade he'd also made for her was slung across her back, the handle sticking over her shoulder.

Ria returned his smile. "I know, father," she said. "I've been taking good care of the armor. It's served me well on bandit raids and hunting trips; not that I let myself get hit by anything. You've taught me well."

"And you've learnt even better," said Dremmus. "I'll look at your armor, look it over and see if it needs any repairs. And your sword?"

Ria grinned, reaching over her shoulder and drawing her sword from its sheath on her back. The blade was a pale brown, almost white in color with a rectangular crossguard made of solid ebony and a handle made of the same material, only wrapped in leather. It was slightly shorter than the common greatsword, the blade measuring at around twenty-five inches with a ten-inch handle, crossguard included. The difference that marked this blade from most, however, was in the blade itself – slightly curved with a single edge, it was remarkably reminiscent of the ancient Akaviri weaponry, with a handle long enough to balance out the weight when holding it with one hand while still having space left over for a second hand.

"As if you just gave it to me directly from the forge," said Ria as she held it in her hand, the low light reflecting off of the runic enchantment on the blade. " _Firefang_ has served me well," she added.

"I'm glad," said Dremmus with a fond smile. Firefang had been one of his best creations, entirely the first of its kind, and perhaps the only one. He didn't make much weaponry out of dragon remains that often – the bones were too thick to manipulate and too liable to snap when thinned out, better serving as armor instead along with dragon scales, as his good friend Lydia Dragonskin could attest to. Firefang had been both a nightmare and a pleasure to create – he'd used the thinner bones found in the wing membranes of dragons to create its blade, and with a core of pure ebony metal (digging out the centerfold for _that_ entitled most of the nightmare part) it was guaranteed that it would take a mighty blow for the blade to crack or even chip.

Not that it was designed for that purpose to begin with. Firefang was a Katana-style blade – made for quick, fast cuts that dug deep into flesh while keeping opponents away with its longer bite, pun intended.

Ria gave him a happy smile, but after a moment it vanished and Ria became serious. "Father," she said, "we need to talk."

Dremmus grimaced, motioning at the table and chairs in the bedroom. "The letters from Delphine and the Vigilants," he said as he sat down.

Ria nodded as she sheathed her sword before joining him. "I'm worried about the Vigilants," she said. "These vampire attacks… they're not equipped to deal with this kind of threat. With the amount of vampires that have been sighted recently, they can easily overwhelm the three- or two-man cells the Vigilants travel in."

"No offense to them, but the Vigilants are fools," refuted Dremmus. "I've spoken to some of their members; they're formed by some of the most close-minded people I've ever met. They hate college of Winterhold, just because of the Conjuration School and the lessons that are taught there on the basis of making deals with the Daedra, and yet, they love enchanting their armor and weaponry on the basis of keeping themselves safe while causing as much pain as they can to Daedra and Antronachs on the hope that they'll never come back to this world." He shook his head. "I once had to kill a Vigilant when I healed him because he didn't like _how_ I healed him."

"You didn't use the Restoration School, right?"

"Nah, you know I can't use that to save my life," refuted the Dragonborn. "Still, the Vigilants have something that the people need – they can easily relate to the common worker or soldier since they were once a part of them before their current profession. They may not be equipped for this new threat, but they are necessary." Dremmus frowned, looking at the letter from Keeper Carcette, the leader of the Vigilants established here in Skyrim that Ria had enclosed in her own last letter. The yellowed paper was poking from a corner in his pack, its innocent exterior doing nothing to belly the danger contained within. "This crypt the Vigilants found, Dimhollow… the way that Carcette talks about it its like the tomb is nothing like we've ever dealt with before. Did you read the letter?"

Ria shook her head, so Dremmus continued talking, "She added a sketch of the tomb they found. It's located _under_ a Nordic tomb, deep within the mountain, and the whole place reeks of magic, blood magic. According to her, the architecture is much different as well, and she's right – judging from the drawing, it's like comparing the flowing curves of a knife with the jagged edges of a saw. This tomb they found… it's older or from the same time of the Dragon Regime, there's no doubt about it, but even so they didn't dare explore too deep. They sealed the tomb, warded it as much as they could and set a watch day and night. And yet… she asked me directly for help to clear the place out."

"And will you?"

"I wasn't at first, but then she said that one of the diggers found a single word etched in one of the walls. That's when she pulled everyone out and sealed the place tighter than Nocturnal's coin purse. Whoever's buried there… they're related to a Clan that's more legend than the dragons, except look how they turned out."

Ria gave him a worried look. "Father… what was the word?"

Dremmus took a deep breath, taking a few moments before he spoke.

"Volkihar."

… **ooOoo…**

In the end, it was nearly two days before Dremmus felt ready enough to depart from the safety of Whiterun to go down chasing Draugr back to their tombs. There were meetings to be held, armor pieces to check, weapons to be sharpened before he could even think of stepping out of Whiterun. On top of that, he needed to check in with the various guilds he was a part of, get progress reports on projects and manage money and fire and hire people…

The novelties of being Skyrim's number one most wanted individual in the business. What business, you ask? All of them.

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. Still, just the Thieves Guild alone had their hands stuck in pretty much anything that made income here in Skyrim, including the so-called Civil War. Even with their recent… trimmings, so to speak, both the Guild and the Dark Brotherhood had contacts everywhere, which meant sources of income everywhere as well. All of that had to be managed, had to be tallied down and accounted for, deals had to be made and jobs taken or refused depending on the risk/payout balance.

Thank the Divines for the Nightingales and Nazir. The day-to-day activities of their respective Guilds wouldn't be managed if he wasn't around to hold their hands. Those two groups were the most time-intensive in all of Skyrim, the Guild more so than the Brotherhood. Not even the College of Winterhold or the Companions of Jorvaskr required as much administration as those two, since the former was more of a research group and the latter a step away from a mercenary group. Tolfdir and Aela were more than capable of handling those.

And yet, while that was going on he also had to make sure he was well-equipped for his oncoming journey. And that didn't just mean himself.

"So, we'll head north," said Dremmus, "take the road that leads to the Weynon Stones and follow the road all the way north. Once we reach the Hall, you two will keep going on to Dawnstar, where a handful of Hands – pun intended – will be waiting to escort you to Windstad Manor. Once you're there, you know what to do."

Ria and Jenassa nodded, the former frowning as she did so. "I wish we didn't have to separate," she said. "I have a feeling…"

"About what?"

"I'm not sure," she said, "but I do know that it is the type of thing that Jarl Idgrod told me to keep an eye on. All I know is that this journey, whatever the destination, will mean many things for us. I only wish we didn't have to go through the mountains to get to the Manor…"

"Well, with Morthal overrun, we're better off taking the long way through Dawnstar. Even I wouldn't go through the Hjaalmarch marshes with the amount of vampires that are probably lurking around. Besides, the Hall of the Vigilants is on the way. The bigger the group, the better. Safety in numbers and all."

Ria nodded, and turning with Jenassa, proceeded to mount her horse, a grey mare of the same brood as Jenassa's own steed, the Dunmer doing the same. Turning west, Dremmus put his fingers into his mouth and let out a mighty whistle. A few seconds later, the sound of multiple horses galloping made itself known, only without the creatures themselves. Instead, a pool of shadows formed on the ground in front of Dremmus, and out of it leaped a dark reddish-brown, almost pitch-black steed with eyes that burned of hell-fire. The noble, terrifying creature reared, the earth trembling at its approach as Shadowmere turned to its master, inclining its head in servitude as it did so.

"Hello, old friend," said Dremmus, "Shall we ride?"

Minutes later, the group of three was riding at a full gallop towards the north, the air getting colder and colder as the followed the main road into the mountains. They soon made their way past Whitewatch Tower, the guards stationed there waving as they passed by. The leagues practically flew by, and by the time it was getting dark the group had reached the fork in the road just past the tomb of Korvanjund that split east towards Windhelm or west and then north towards Dawnstar.

"We can press on," said Dremmus, checking his map, "or we can turn east and spend the night at the Nightgate Inn. It's in the opposite direction of where we need to go, and we'd have to backtrack tomorrow morning, but it's the safest option I think. There's just no way that we'll reach the Hall of the Vigilant before nightfall."

Ria bit her lip nervously before nodding once. "It'll take us about an hour to reach the Inn," said Ria, "and the horses are tired. We need rest – let's head to the inn."

Dremmus nodded, rolling up his map and putting it back in his pack. "To the inn it is then. Yah!" he cried, and Shadowmere took off again, Ria and Jenassa hot on his heels on their own mounts as they headed down the road that led to Windhelm. It took longer than it should have to reach the Inn, but already their horses were tired from running the whole day and night had fallen quickly. Of course, Shadowmere could've kept going for weeks on end without food or drink or rest, but his companions' horses could not.

And yet, it was worth arriving at the inn. The innkeeper, Hadring, gave them news that put the group on their toes.

"Something's happened at the Hall of the Vigilants," he said, "there was a group of travelers that claim they've seen smoke up in the mountain. They thought it was coming from Fort Dunstad, but it seems that the Fort is fine. The only option…"

"Is the Hall," nodded Dremmus, grimacing at the possibilities. "Gods, and it's too late to go out there. With all the vampire attacks that have been going on…"

"Indeed," agreed the innkeeper. "I've been lucky that this inn is frequented by Stormcloaks. They're always keeping an eye out here, makes the place safe."

Dremmus nodded, knowing without having to turn his head of the group of soldiers huddled in the corner, keeping an eye on the Inn's door while enjoying their food and drink. "Yeah," he said, "Lucky." Dremmus then pulled out four gold coins. "Here's the gold for the rooms and the food," he said.

"Much obliged," said the innkeeper.

"Have the food sent to the rooms," he said. "Have a good night."

Dremmus then went to the room that Jenassa and Ria were sharing. He was in another room, the neighboring room to be exact, but the room his daughter and the mercenary were sharing was the only one in the inn with more than one bed, hence why it was more expensive.

"So what did he say?" asked Ria from her position on one of the beds. In the corner, sharpening her sword, was Jenassa, her eyes on the whetstone but her attention on what Dremmus would say.

The last Rahjoore sighed. "Nothing good," he said, proceeding to tell them about the Hall. "I know the guy, Hadring. If he thinks that something happened, something probably did."

"So then what do we do?"

Dremmus looked to the ceiling, closing his eyes. A few seconds later, he spoke. "Change of plans," he said. "We'll leave earlier tomorrow and head out for the Hall, together. I think that abandoning the Manor can wait until this situation is cleared up."

When he looked back, Ria was grinning and Jenassa had stopped sharpening her sword. Their agreement to the change of plans was not needed to be vocalized.

The next day, they fulfilled those plans. After waking in the wee hours of the morning, they left Nightgate inn without waking the owner or any of the other tenants, few as they were. Shadowmere and the two mares were right where they left them, so after quickly saddling them the group was off. Heading west, they moved at a quick gallop, passing the Waynon Stones and following the road north towards Fort Dunstad. It wasn't until they reached the fort in question that they finally saw some action, the bandits occupying the fort making the first move and attacking.

"I still can't get over how obviously stupid these people are," said Ria after they'd slain each bandit. "What goes through their heads when they see us? 'Oh look, those travelers have armor made of Dragon Scales and weapons made of dragon bones! I think we can take 'em boys!'"

Dremmus couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, stop complaining," he said, hooking the Ebony Blade, still in its sheath, back over his shoulder – he hadn't even needed to draw the blade, cracking skulls with just the sheathed sword. "You're just grumpy because we got up early today."

Ria grumbled, but didn't say anything to deny it. Next to her, Jenassa shared the Harbinger's amusement as she re-mounted her horse and moved on to scout while Father and Daughter looted the corpses.

"My lord!" she called upon her return a few minutes later, "Come quickly, you must see this!"

Taking in her serious expression, Dremmus abandoned the coin purse a marauder had tied to his belt (he'd collected the chief's gold already anyways) and quickly mounted Shadowmere, Ria doing the same.

"Yah!" Dremmus urged Shadowmere, and the immortal horse took off after Jenassa. The Rahjoores followed their hired mercenary up a path behind the Fort that led up the mountain. Less than a minute later, they came upon the sight of the Hall of the Vigilants.

Or rather, what was left of it.

"Akatosh preserve us," said Dremmus, dismounting Shadowmere and unslinging the Mephala's Ebony Blade from over his shoulder, holding it sheathed in his left hand as he moved towards the ruins of the Hall. Bodies littered the area, all bloodied but their equipment varying. Some, Dremmus noticed, had the tell-tale armor of bandits, but most of the bodies were in the typical garbs of the Vigilants – robes over steel-plated armor.

"Blades out," he said, "Move around, look for tracks. We won't find any survivors here. I'll… I'll be inside."

Hearing his companions follow his instructions, he moved towards the blackened door that led into the remains of the Hall. Opening, he looked around with an impassive eye at the destruction; part of the roof had caved in due to fire damage, and the various benches that had littered the area had been thrown around and broken in pieces, covering the evidence of more bodies of both Vigilants and bandits. Here, however, Dremmus found more damning pieces of evidence – ash piles, but with a more dusty aspect that that produced by fire. Apparently, for every Vigilant that went down, two vampires suffered the same fate. Dremmus glanced at the bandits, now knowing that they were in fact Thralls of the vampires, forced to do their bidding either willingly or unwillingly.

Dremmus moved into the room, his right hand ready to draw his sword at any second. He searched the bodies in the room, looking for anything that related to the letter Keeper Carcette had sent him. He also searched for the woman in question, but both of his searches were fruitless-

A rustle. Dremmus whirled, his sheathed sword flashing, and with a loud _crack_ the vampire was battered away, its head snapping to the side from the force of the blow. Dremmus raised his left arm, still holding the sheathed sword, and slapped the upper part of the gauntlet that protected his arm. Two small wings emerged from the sides of the gauntlet, and after pulling on a hidden mechanism, he let go of the same. There was a sharp _twang,_ and the female vampire fell, a small crossbow bolt lodged in her chest. The dagger it held in its hand fell to earth, the blackened edges revealing its poisoned nature. Dremmus scoffed, only to frown inquisitively as he spied the vampire's strange armor.

The creature's leather armor and trousers were colored an ashen grey, embroidered with dark threads that formed a pattern reminiscent of the folded wings of a bat. Its lines were flowing in a rather organic fashion, draping as a sort of mantle around the upper torso and down below the hips in a short skirt. Black, form-fitting pants and calf-high boots completed the vampires attire. None of that rubbed Dremmus the wrong way, though the sinister effect that the armor was supposed to emit was somewhat over-glorified and exaggerated. What really made Dremmus' head shake in disbelief was the top of a pair of generously-sized, deathly pale _breasts_ , perfectly exposed for all to see, or lodge a crossbow arrow into, as he'd just done.

 _Now that's just wrong_ , he thought, looking at the armor in amusement. Folding the small crossbow back into the hidden compartment in his left gauntlet, he crouched next to the cool carcass, curious about the strange armor. It was not leather, as he first thought, but rather a flexible, quite resilient material that was not made of the hide of any animal the Dragonborn knew of. Clearly, it was made to take unimpeded advantage of its' wearer's agility rather than bear the full brunt of an attack.

Eyes narrowing, Dremmus stood up once more and cast his gaze around, confirming his suspicions – there were more sets of armor lying around in here, all filled with vampire dust remains. This made him worry; if the vampire's armor had been unique, he would have probably taken it off and used the materials in something else, robbing the dead of its modesty be damned, but the presence of more of these carcasses with the same type of armor meant one thing – uniforms. And uniforms meant cohesion, teamwork, servitude. It meant a _group_ , and a large one, if the unprecedented attack on the Hall was any indication.

"Father!" Dremmus looked up at the sound of Ria calling him, "You might want to come see this!"

"Be right there!" he called back. Glancing one last time at the corpse, he reached down, gripped the head, and twisted.

There was no such thing as overkill, after all.

What Ria had found had turned out to be a set of tracks leading west, up towards the mountain next to that which the Vigilants had built their Hall on. Relatively fresh, so to speak, they were able to follow them all the way up the mountain, Dremmus thanking Nocturnal for having no snow from the previous night cover the tracks and erase any chances of discovering the perpetrators.

Having tied Ria's and Jenassa's horses to Shadowmere's saddle, Dremmus had whispered to the immortal horse to lead them to safety, and the black steed had gone with the horses, leaving their owners on foot, as was necessary. Once that was done, they'd departed up the shadow of the mountain.

It took almost half a day to finally find the entrance to the crypt they were unknowingly looking for.

"Dimhollow Crypt," said Jenassa. "I expected more," she added upon sighting the crack in the stone mountain that signified the entrance to the cave.

"What did you expect, a doormat?" said Dremmus. "Come on, day's a-wasting, and I for one don't want to fight vampires at night. Get your lanterns ready and charge your swords, we're going to need them."

The two women nodded, grabbing soul gems from their small packs and running them across the blades of their weapons. As they did so, pieces of the gems would flake off and disintegrate, charging the runes on the swords that powered the enchantments, until the gems had disintegrated completely and the runes shined brightly with power.

Dremmus for his part, grabbed the lantern hanging from his belt, opened it, and held it in front of his face after checking it had enough whale oil inside. " _Yol_ ," he whispered, and the small flame that emerged from his mouth was enough to light the small wicker. Glancing at his companions, who were preparing their own lanterns, he held out his so that they could light theirs. Soon after that, they were ready, loaded with potions from Arcadia's Cauldron and their way lit by the small lanterns.

Prayers said, blades ready, lighting guiding their way, they made their way into the darkness of Dimhollow Crypt, not knowing or even suspecting how their paths would change from that point on.

… **ooOoo…**


	3. Beauty in Darkness: Dimhollow's Secret

_Somewhere North of here…_

 _Chapter 2 – Beauty in Darkness: Dimhollow's Secret_

… **ooOoo…**

"More of these armored vampires," said Ria, kneeling next to the cold corpse of the vampire she'd just slain. She looked up at her father. "You're right, they're definitely grouped together somehow."

"They mentioned a leader," he answered. Dremmus glanced at the cooling corpse of Vigilant Tolan, whose name he only knew because of the engraving on the man's warhammer. Judging from the body's temperature, he'd died only recently, and was definitely the individual that left behind the tracks for the Rahjoores to follow. "Harkon, I think they said. Then there's the Volkihar engraving the Vigilants found when they cleared out this crypt. I think legend just became reality… again."

Ria giggled at her father's exasperation. "It'll be alright," she said. "We're properly equipped for the excursion. Jenassa and I have fire enchantments on our blades, she's a Dunmer so she knows plenty of Destruction magic – at least Fire spell-wise – and you are leagues ahead of any of these vampires in terms of speed, strength, and skill."

Dremmus shook his head. "I'm not worried about that," he said. "What really worries me is whatever is buried down here. There won't be that many vampires down here, there's nothing to feed from, so we won't encounter resistance we won't be able to deal with, but whatever it is that they're looking for could be potentially dangerous for all of us. Or it could just be a coven's new living quarters and that's that. Either way, I'm not taking any chances."

He looked at the closed gate that barred there way further. " _Fiik,_ " he inhaled, holding the air in his chest and subconsciously charging it with the power of his Voice, his Thu'um. " _Lo Sah!_ " he cried, exhaling with the finished Shout. His breath took form, becoming almost-solid in the exact shape and form of himself. Immediately after being formed, the Spectral Clone turned and glided/walked towards the gate, going through it like it wasn't even there.

Dremmus began, "That should trigger any traps in case-"

 _Ba-Boom!_

The Dragonborn winced. "…in case there's Fire Rune planted right in front of the gate," he finished.

"Good call, Father," said Ria. "Oh," she added, as the gate opened, "Jenassa must've found the switch."

Once their mercenary friend – who at this point in her life was secretly making the life-altering decision of staying with the Rahjoores on a permanent basis – had rejoined them, the group continued their way down into the crypt. Here, however, a chagrined Jenassa realized that their journey underground would take a lot longer than usual, due to one simple problem – greed.

Ria had been born to Imperial parents. Dremmus, for his part, was half-imperial on his mother's side as far as Jenassa knew. That being said, and keeping in mind the uncanny luck that Imperials in general had when looting (they usually found more of whatever treasure they could get their hands on), Jenassa in her experience with the family of two realized that the biggest problem they faced whenever they journeyed down into places like these was that they stopped to loot anything and anyone they encountered. Usually this paid off in the fact that by the time they left the area they had sacks filled to the brim of valuables slung over their shoulders that they could later sell for a _very_ good profit, but most of the time Jenassa found that it only served to slow them down. A lot.

And Jenassa disliked dungeons. Bandit camps she enjoyed, but draugr? Those were a pain to deal with. Azura knew how many times Jenassa had lost swords or daggers in the bodies of those infernal creatures, since they were practically made out of bones only and her weapons more often than not ended up broken or stuck in them. Using the fabled Destruction School of magic that her Dunmer race was so talented in wasn't an option either, as while she knew a good fire spell or two, her Magicka reserves weren't as cultivated. Thankfully, those problems ended when her boss gifted her with a nice sword made of ebony that was fire-enchanted, but still, she _really_ didn't like dealing with draugr.

Luckily, it seemed that the vampires that had taken up residence in Dimhollow had done them the favor of clearing up the undead (er, other undead) that had been present before, so that didn't slow them down. Unfortunately, the vampires didn't loot the bodies, which meant that the Rahjoores ended up searching every single corpse and gaining ten to twenty pieces of gold every time they did so. Which was nice, considering that that gold usually ended up being used to pay her and still be able to fund their ridiculously unnecessary and expensive expeditions.

"These earthen passages do not agree with me. I already miss the wind and sky," said Jenassa. "The fewer of these mines and tombs we venture into, the happier I'll be."

"Even if you get paid well?" said Dremmus, sheathed sword in his left hand, scratch marks on the sheath from all the hits it had taken – he had a thing for not drawing the blade and making his kills with the blunt sheath.

"Even so," said Jenassa. Dremmus pretended to not notice how there was a _slight_ moment of hesitation in that last sentence.

"Well don't worry," said Ria, "We'll be out of here in no time- oh, a Sapphire!" She rushed over to where the precious gem had fallen out of a broken burial urn.

"Wait, no!" said Dremmus, moving quickly and grabbing Ria's arm. The girl froze, her foot mere inches away from putting it down on a Frost magic rune that would've certainly killed her, or at the very least rendered her leg completely immobile.

"Ria…" Dremmus gave her a stern look, "What have I told you about treasure?"

"Always check if it's trapped," answered a shaken Ria, moving back to a safe place. "Sorry, father."

"It's okay, there's no need to apologize," he said, changing his grip on her arm to a reassuring one. "You just need to be careful next time, alright?" Upon her nod, Dremmus let go of her and held out his hand, the precious gemstone zooming over to him thanks to a Telekinesis spell.

"Here," he said, giving her the gem. Ria grinned embarrassedly as she pocketed the gem, and the group moved on.

A couple of corridors later, they encountered their first Death Hound.

"Get this motherfucking mutt off of me!" yelled Dremmus from the floor, his sword between the animals' jaws, stopping it from mauling him.

"Busy!" yelled Ria as she and Jenassa double-teamed a vampire, the creature barely keeping up with the onslaught. "Give us a minute!"

"A minute, she says," muttered Dremmus, before wrenching his blade to the side, taking the hound with it. Pinning the animal against the floor with his sword, he let go of one end, making the motion as if grabbing something in the air in front of the animal. "A minute my ass," he added, pulling his hand away from the Hound. Blood exploded out of the animal's chest in a controlled gush, the creature whimpering in pain before expiring. Dremmus then manipulated the blood into a stream, which he threw at the vampire. Surprised and blinded by the blood, the vampire froze for a second, a second that cost it its life when Jenassa's sword cleaved its head right off its shoulders.

Ria looked at her father with an apologetic glance. "Sorry," she said. "She was going to revive that corpse over there," she pointed at a dead frostbite spider the size of the hound. "I didn't want to let that happen."

"It's fine," said Dremmus from his kneeled position next to the hound, examining the thing's collar. " _Hi, I'm Runn,"_ he read out loud, _"and if you find me, please return me to Lokil. Be careful, I'm a Death Hound!"_ He looked up, his expression bemused. "Well at least we know just _what_ this thing is," he said.

Ria scowled at him. "Father, this is no time for jokes-"

"I'm serious, it actually says it on the collar-!"

"Oh, _please_ , nobody is _that_ stupid-!"

Jenassa sighed as the two began to bicker, Dremmus waving the collar and Ria refusing to believe him, claiming he'd somehow made the scratches himself. Pinching her nose with her free hand, she shook her head. They would be at this for a while, she knew, so she moved to one of the walls and leaned against it-

 _Shlink!_

Jenassa screamed as the spear pierced her side, below her ribs on the left, the trap triggered by a faulty mechanism that had engaged with her too-close proximity. Dremmus and Ria were at her side in a flash, Dremmus drawing his sword for the first time and cutting through the spear in the narrow space between the woman and the wall before it could retract and hurt Jenassa more. The vibration of the sword cleaving through the spear made the mercenary howl in agony as Ria caught the Dunmer in her arms, lowering her to the ground while being careful of the spear.

"Shit!" cursed Dremmus, "This is bad! She's lucky that the trap was broken, if the rest of the spears had been ejected she'd be dead! No, don't pull it out," he stopped Ria from doing just that, "Not yet, we need to clean the wound-"

"R-right," agreed Ria, "Give me a potion-"

"Here," interrupted her father, already uncorking the little red bottle and placing the cork in between Jenassa's teeth. "Bite," he told her, "this is gonna hurt," he added, grabbing the spearhead and pulling it out of Jenassa, taking care to not make the hole in the Dunmer's chest any bigger while Ria poured the potions' contents over the wound. The woman screamed in pain through the cork as the potion did its work, disinfecting the wound and beginning to seal it while stemming the blood flow.

"Ria," said Dremmus, looking at her with a serious gaze, "you need to go back. No, listen," he stopped her from interrupting, "there's no way of knowing how deep this cave system goes. We haven't even reached the supposed Volkihar architecture yet, and considering that, this place could stretch out for miles. Take Jenassa back the way we came through, and get her to Dawnstar. When you get out of the caves, call for Shadowmere, the horse is strong enough to carry the both of you."

"What about you?" Ria's worried eyes were set on his face.

Dremmus looked into the darkness of the passage he was about to traverse. "Whatever's down here," he said, "is enough motivation for the vampires to wipe out the Vigilants of Stendarr. I need to figure out what's going on down here, and the only way for me to do _that_ is by going on deeper, alone." He looked back at Ria, his expression sad. "I'm sorry that we have to separate so soon, but it has to be this way." He stood up, readjusting the grip on his sword and shouldering the pack on his back. "I'll see you soon, Ria," he said, not looking at her, "I promise. I love you."

"Father, wait-!"

He was gone.

Ria cursed, glancing down at Jenassa, who'd fallen unconscious while she and her father spoke. A glance at the Dunmer's wound revealed that it had closed, but experience had taught her that it had only closed on the surface. However, it would be enough to carry her. Hefting her pack, she slung her friend's body over her shoulders, groaning under the combined weight while holding her sword in her right hand, the other hand gripping Jenassa's legs so that the woman would not fall to the ground.

Ria glanced back at the darkness her father had vanished in, the lantern hanging at her waist revealing only but a few feet of the tunnel he'd vanished in.

"Be safe, father," she whispered, before turning around and heading back the way they'd come, her mind failing at keeping away visions of Dremmus fruitlessly fighting a fast-moving shadow.

Little did she know, it would be a long time before she realized that she'd misinterpreted that vision – her father wasn't fighting the shadow; they were fighting _together_.

… **ooOoo…**

Unaware of his daughter's worries and fears, Dremmus had rushed down the cavern, taking it at a dead sprint, his steps quiet and his breath quick. Faster than a human, he ran, emerging in a small open cave with a river running across. On the other side was a female vampire, who turned in surprise at the sound of his footsteps.

The last thing she, or her summoned skeletons, saw was the cave wall, never catching sight of their killer as they were slain in seconds. Not even the water was disturbed.

A few meters past their remains, Dremmus sheathed his sword, the blade _humming_ in pleasure as it absorbed the little blood it had picked up from the vampire. It was the only sword in the world that had such an enchantment, or rather curse, on its blade – a perk that came with being a Daedric Artifact. It had plenty of advantages, the main of which was that the blood that it absorbed kept the blade sharp and healed its user, something that Dremmus sorely needed.

The Dragonborn, not sparing a thought for the dead vampire, kept moving on. The teachings of the Dark Brotherhood and Thieves Guild kept his steps as silent as a ghost's, even at the speed he ran. As he descended deeper into Dimhollow, he took care to eliminate every vampire, death hound and frostbite spiderling he encountered, making sure that his Blade had the chance to absorb the lifeblood of the creatures he killed.

Eventually he reached the point he'd been dreading the most. As the rounded Nordic architecture changed to the more angular and streamlined version of the ancient Volkihar, Dremmus was forced to stop by a pair of combatants: a Master Vampire (judging from the pallor of his skin and the color of his eyes) and a Frostbite Spider the size of a small house, the vampire zipping about and around the damn creature while the Spider attempted to kill its elusive prey.

A pity for both of them that their predator was neither.

" _Hey!_ "

Dremmus's yell had its intended effect; since the vampire had been so into the fight with the giant spider, he'd been heavily distracted, and the Spider lunged, clasping the vampire's neck within its mandibles. A terror-filled scream and a crunch later, the Spider was victorious, though wounded as it was Dremmus knew that it wouldn't live much longer. As the spider enjoyed its last meal, the unnoticed Dremmus quietly sneaked past it towards the door that blocked the way further into the mountain.

Funnily enough, as he closed the door behind him, Dremmus heard the _thump_ of a massive body hitting stone.

 _And the Spider's dead. Good riddance,_ he thought. Looking around, he made a careful inspection of the room he found himself in, making sure to keep an eye out for traps or ambushes hidden away.

 _Looks like an entrance room of sorts,_ he thought, moving forwards quietly towards an open balcony on the opposite wall. _Just an entrance to_ what _is the question- oh._

The entrance room opened up to a large cavern with a ceiling so high that it was lost in an all-encompassing darkness. The cavern was split in the center by a large ravine – Dremmus wouldn't have been surprised if the fissure was created by tectonic plate movement. In the center of the ravine was an island-like structure, joined to each side of the ravine by long arching stone bridges, the arches of the bridges flowing upwards and forming an open ceiling around the island. Below, Dremmus could hear the sound of running water, even if he was unable to see it.

Voices caught Dremmus' attention, and the Dragonborn looked down to the island over the intricately-sculptured balustrade. In the center of the island was a group of thirteen individuals, judging by their matching armor and rags (armor for the vampires, rags for the thralls), huddled around a fourteenth vampire that was looming over a twitching naked man, the poor soul writhing in pain under whatever magic the vampire was submitting him to. Dremmus frowned, his eyes on the man and recognizing him as Adalvad, the Vigilant of Stendarr's archivist and head scholar, a man he'd met once more than a lifetime ago.

 _They want something from him,_ thought Dremmus. _They're pressed for time too, otherwise they'd just thrall him and force him to give up whatever information they want – and it_ is _information. Why else would they keep the Archivist alive, the scholar that knows the secrets of the Vigilants?_

The Dovahkiin looked around, searching for a way down. Finding it to his right, he placed his pack on the ground, mindful not to jostle anything inside it so as to mot attract unwanted attention, and approached the stairs, quietly tiptoeing down them step-by-quiet-step. As he did so, he reached over to his left gauntlet and set up his portable crossbow with a bolt, ready to fore at a moment's notice in case of an emergency.

 _Nocturnal, clear my path,_ he prayed. _Azura, guide my steps. Mephala, blood my blade. Sithis, keep me silent._

He reached the bottom of the steps, a few feet away from the bridge that would cross over to the island.

Here, Dremmus prepared. Gathering the Magicka stored in his body, he held out his right hand, palm pointed at the edge of the bridge. Immediately the stone was warped and cut, rumbling quietly as a rune was formed on the surface of the bridge, right in between the two sides of the bridge. The magic done, he lowered his hand, his chest and heart throbbing in exertion as he panted slightly; Earth-based magic was costly, Runes especially so.

He waited a couple more seconds, taking his time to recover. On the other side of the bridge, he heard Adalvad begin to scream. Dremmus quietly cursed his vantage point, as the arc of the bridge didn't allow him to see what was going on. Not that it mattered either way, as he would cross that bridge at some point anyways.

Once recovered, he moved forwards. Taking care to not step on the near-invisible rune, he quietly made his way across the bridge. At the apex, he stopped, kneeling on the stone and holding the Ebony Blade in his left hand.

"…now, we don't have to continue with this…" Dremmus heard Adalvad's torturer say. "Just tell is what we want to know… how do we open it?"

"I've told you what I know!" Adalvad's voice was punctured with sobs, and Dremmus was reminded of the fact that the man was a scholar, not a warrior. "Please, I don't know any more-!"

"Oh, but I'm sure you do," cooed the vampire. Magic was saturating his voice, and Dremmus knew that if he didn't interfere soon, whatever secrets that Adalvad hadn't spilled yet would belong to the vampires. "Don't resist… it'll all be over soon… come now, we can end this so quickly…"

Dremmus narrowed his eyes, raised his left hand, steadying it with his right, and took aim. His target chosen, he released the bolt in the gauntlet crossbow just as he felt a Deadra's touch blanket his skin – either Sithis' or Nocturnal's, no doubt.

With a meaty _thud_ that was heard above the sound of the underground river _,_ it was embedded in the shoulder of the vampire torturing Adalvad.

"Lokil!" yelled another vampire as the rest of the group whirled, vampires hissing and snarling, thralls yelling in surprise, everyone searching for their hidden assailant. Their eyes landed on Dremmus' form – and kept looking _through_ him, Nocturnal's Gift of Power hiding him from his enemies' eyes. As they began to spread out and presenting themselves as easier targets, Dremmus slowly reloaded his crossbow, taking care to both not make any unnecessary sound or disturb the invisibility spell hiding him.

Two seconds later, a thrall fell on the far side of the island, a bolt embedded in its throat.

"Find them!" roared Lokil, his shoulder drenched in blood. " _Find them!_ " As he roared his command, another bolt took down another vampire, this time the female that had yelled in concern when he'd been hit. Lokil howled in rage, his orange eyes searching in the darkness.

Another bolt, another thrall down. "The bridge!" yelled a vampire. "It came from the- urk!" The vampire fell, collapsing onto the stone with a bolt stuck in its eye.

The remaining six thralls obediently moved forwards to the bridge, their weapons out as they hunted for their masters' enemy. Two of them never even made it, felled by crossbow bolts, leaving four thralls, three vampires, and Lokil. Another vampire fell, though it was only crippled, not killed; the bolt had been aimed at one of the thralls, but it had ducked at the last moment, the bolt sailing past the enthralled woman and embedding itself in the leg of the vampire behind it.

As he calmly reloaded, Dremmus thanked Nocturnal for the dose of luck. Hopefully, the vampire would bleed out in time. The remaining two vampires besides Lokil dove for their fallen fellow, dragging him behind a pillar.

 _Four thralls,_ thought Dremmus. _Easy._

He suddenly moved forwards at a run, breaking the invisibility spell, and immediately the thralls froze in surprise. Dremmus capitalized on it by drawing the Ebony Blade, using the same movement of the draw to behead the closest thrall; the return swing cut deeply into the shoulder of another thrall, and Dremmus raised his crossbow, firing it point-blank into the heart of the third thrall that approached. He wrenched his sword out of the second thrall's body, using the momentum of the pull to duck under the last thrall's hammer and past the thrall, cutting the man at the waist as he did so. He straightened, flourishing the Ebony Blade and sheathing it as he heard the two halves fall behind him.

 _Four vampires left,_ he thought. _One injured-_ he leaned out of the way of a hastily-thrown fireball, the magic carrying it past and behind him, where it imploded against the cave wall. _And one of them is good at the School of Destruction._

Lokil snarled at him, baring his fangs in hatred. A moment later, however, his demeanor changed, and while his eyes were shining with rage, his face smiled in welcome. "Well now," he said, "who do we have here? A puny mortal who thought he could deal with us all?" Lokil reached up to the bolt still embedded in his shoulder and ripped it out, the wound healing itself before Dremmus's eyes.

 _Higher class vampire,_ he thought. _Master? Maybe. Time to be careful._

Lokil looked at the bolt in interest. "Interesting," he said. "But to think that the Dawnguard would send one man alone… it is curious." Lokil looked around at all the dead bodies, his eyes flaring brightly when they landed on the first female vampire Dremmus had killed. "But not just any single man… a warrior of the highest caliber. Who are you, mortal?"

Dremmus didn't answer. Instead, he took a single step back. Lokil smiled savagely. "Oh ho, what's this?" he asked, and Dremmus took another step backwards. "Afraid all of a sudden? You should be." Lokil sheathed his sword, unhooking a branding iron with a symbol at the end, a symbol that Dremmus recognized all too well. The Dragonborn glanced at the death thralls out of the corner of his eye and confirmed his suspicions – the thralls had the exact same brand just over their hearts.

The symbol of the Volkihar clan.

"Because of your actions here, I will ensure that your death will be drawn out and painful," said Lokil, his smile nowhere to be seen as Dremmus kept walking backwards, careful not to trip over the thrall corpses. "But first, you shall see the ascension of our species and the downfall of your own. _You_ shall be a witness of the fall of your era, and of the failure of your actions. The Tyranny of the Sun shall end, and the key to our victory lies no less than a hundred feet away! There is nothing you can do to stop us! Kill him!"

At his command, the two surviving vampires blew past Lokil, one with her sword drawn and the other with magic in his palm, fireballs ready to be launched at a moments notice. Dremmus turned and ran back down the bridge, jumping from side to side every now and then to dodge the incoming fireballs. As such, he was able use one of his dodges to disguise his jump over the rune he'd set up earlier. He spun around, standing tall and eyes looking forward as the female vampire stepped on the rune.

The rune flared to life. Two-foot-tall spikes made out of the very stone of the bridge shot out from the circumference of the rune, spearing through the vampiress and piercing her legs. The vampiress screeched in agony, only to be brutally silenced as a final spear of stone was created, emerging from the center of the rune. The spear cut through the vampire, inserting itself right between her legs and going through the body, the stone point emerging at the right shoulder with a spray of blood. With a final gurgle, the vampire died, dropping her sword.

The sheer brutality of the kill was enough to paralyze the vampire mage, and Dremmus calmly ran forwards and caught the falling sword of the vampiress, twirling it once before throwing it. It caught the vampire right in the heart, the force of the blow launching it over the arc of the bridge where it landed right at Lokil's feet.

Lokil looked up from the corpse at his feet fearfully, only to grunt in pain as the Ebony Blade found itself stabbed right in his gut.

"You know what your mistake was?" asked Dremmus, speaking for the first time. "You talked too much."

Dremmus pulled the sword out, and Lokil fell to the floor, orange eyes showing he was dead, the blood that flowed from his body floating upwards and into the Ebony Blade. Dremmus stabbed the sword into the stone, and immediately tendrils of red magic flowed from the sword, heading towards the nearby bodies and absorbing their blood as well.

Dremmus sighed in relief as the Blade's power healed his body, his shaking knees calmed from the constant agony his body found itself in. The Ebony Blade was necessary for his survival – the disease he carried required that he be constantly healing himself, or else he'd expire before his destiny was fulfilled. Prolonged battles hurt and tired him more, and even battles like this one where he'd prepared the battlefield to his advantage were grueling on his body. Still, the months spent at the Throat of the World had been good to him; before he'd made the climb, his health had declined to the point that even common bandits were painful to fight, even with the Ebony Blade. Alduin had nearly killed him during their battle, and it was only thanks to Paarthurnax that he was able to survive.

Speaking of surviving… Dremmus looked around, his eyes searching for Lokil's victim as the Ebony Blade absorbed and purified the last vestiges of blood. Adalvad, judging from his harsh breathing, was not long for this world; he was too weak, too tortured to be able to survive, and Dremmus had neither the supplies nor the time to ensure the man's survival.

At the very least, he would be able to give the Vigilant his final rites.

Sheathing Mephala's sword, Dremmus approached the fallen scholar. Kneeling next to him, he turned Adalvad over and onto his back. The man was awake, though barely conscious.

"Adalvad," he said.

The Vigilant's eyes opened, life still in his eyes as he looked up at Dremmus. "Dovahkiin," he whispered weakly, his eyes awed. "I am honored… to be… in your presence…"

"Save your strength," said Dremmus. "I need to ask you something…"

"…the Volkihar…" Adalvad coughed, blood dripping down his bearded chin. "They… search… for something… sealed…" The Vigilant coughed again. "You must… take it before… before they do…"

Dremmus glanced towards the center of the island, where a chest-high central pillar was surrounded by grooves in the floor and various small pyres. He glanced back down at the dying Vigilant. "How do I find whatever they were looking for?" he asked. " _What_ were they looking for?"

"I… I cannot say…" By now, Dremmus had to strain his ears in order to hear Adalvad's words. "…the lock… requires s-sacrifice… blood. Powerful blood." Adalvad closed his eyes, and with what seemed like a final surge of strength, he said, "Stop them, Dovahkiin. The Volkihar approach."

With a final rattling breath, Adalvad died. Dremmus closed the corpse's eyes, muttering a prayer to Akatosh and Shor under his breath. The rites of passage finalized, he stood up, a stony countenance taking in the puzzle he was presented with.

There were three concentric circles of pillars and archways surrounding the island, forming the open roof that Dremmus had identified earlier when he'd entered the cavern. Stone gargoyles were perched on the arches, their glittering eyes and almost life-like countenance giving Dremmus the illusion of their eyes tracking his every movement. The chest-high central pillar he'd noticed earlier was in the exact center of a perfectly segmented hexagonal floor, and it was made of a material that looked like pitch-black obsidian. The entire area was saturated with magic, and as soon as Dremmus stepped closer to the hexagonal floor, it reached a crescendo, making the air practically _vibrate_ with its intensity.

 _What in the name of the Divines…?_

The scholar in him was marveling at the entire structure, at the power that was laced in its every cut, every groove, and every stone. Dremmus kept approaching the obsidian pillar, noting the runes engraved on the sides and the rounded, shallow pool of what looked like quicksilver at the very top of the pillar. There was a thick layer of dust on top, and Dremmus raised his right hand to brush it off-

The quicksilver shifted, and a long, thin spike of the same material stabbed right through his hand.

Surprised, Dremmus let out a shout of pain, reflexively attempting to pull back his hand. The spike retracted, and Dremmus hissed as the air tickled the open hole in his hand. Immediately the Ebony Blade began to vibrate in its sheath, and Dremmus felt the wound begin to rapidly close. His attention however, was occupied not by the closing wound but rather by the sudden silence that pervaded his immediate surroundings; the feeling of power that had saturated the air around him had vanished. A glance at the quicksilver revealed that the blood forcibly taken from him was in the process of being absorbed, a large part of it running down the obsidian pillar and into the grooves surrounding it on the floor.

 _So… what now?_

When the blood reached the ground, the hexagonal segments lit up in purple-colored mists of magic, with stone basins located every few feet lighting up in purple fire. There was a sudden rumbling, and Dremmus stumbled as the stone shifted under his feet, the obsidian pillar growing- nay, he was sinking into the stone, the segments becoming steps and the pillar growing into a large spire of the same material.

The rumbling ended, the fires vanished, and all was still. Hand on his Blade, he approached the Spire, mindful of the words that both Lokil and Adalvad had said before their passing. He circled the Spire, senses focused on it, and finding nothing, he finally got close enough to it to touch it.

Not that he got the chance, considering that as soon as he stopped moving, one of the sides slid downwards and revealed an opening. There was a rustle and a flash of movement, the sight of something distinctly humanlike falling out, and before he could think about it Dremmus had already caught the woman in his arms, dropping the Ebony Blade in the process.

"Holy sh-" The curse almost slipped past his lips from his surprise. Shifting his grip on the limp woman, he kneeled, holding her so that she was facing upwards. He brushed her hair away from her neck, moving to check for a pulse-

He couldn't hold in a stunned gasp when his gaze landed on her face. True, he had been blessed in seeing true paragons of beauty throughout his life, even having the luck of meeting two goddess in his lifetime (and one rather more personally than the other), but the woman who'd quite literally fallen in his arms was beautiful enough to be a goddess herself. Her hair seemed woven out of pure shadows, so dark it wouldn't have looked out of place framing the face of Nocturnal herself. In contrast, her skin was so pale it could've been comparable to the purest pillars of ice he'd seen during his tenure at the Throat of the World. The woman also had the look of nobility – high cheekbones, a small impish nose and a fine jaw that gave her features an aristocratic quality, along with a slight yet lithe build that bespoke of an exercised body. Her skin, pale as it was, also had not a single blemish nor mark from what he could see – obviously some kind of preservation spell had been placed on what he now knew was a tomb, which also placed credence to his theory that she'd been a noblewoman's daughter when she'd died.

"So young… twenty? Twenty-five?" he muttered, looking at her. "Akatosh above, you're definitely one of the most beautiful women I've seen in my life. To die so young…"

Dremmus looked around in confusion. "What the hell is going on here?" His voice spoke aloud the thoughts running through his head. "We are at least almost a mile underground, in a godsdamned crypt that the Vigilants of Stendarr _really_ went out of their way to seal up before a merry band of vampires decided to crack the place open-"

He stopped speaking. A moment later, his expression went from one of confusion to one of chagrin. "This isn't a crypt," he said in a deadpan. His gaze was locked onto the tomb. "Fuck me, this place isn't even a tomb. It's a fucking _prison._ "

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm holding someone alive, aren't I?"

The only response he got was the woman shifting in his arms. Then again, it was the only response he needed. Dremmus sighed again. "Well," he said, "this is awkward."

He finally looked down at the woman, meeting her crimson gaze with his own.

There was a moment of silence as vampire and man stared at each other. Then-

"Okay, before you attack and kill me, I have to say that it is extremely unfair to be attacked by a woman who by _any_ standards you compare her too ends up blowing them out of the water. You practically _radiate_ beauty- shit!"

Dremmus threw himself backwards as the vampire lunged for his throat, letting go of her as he did so. Fortunately, because of her position she didn't have that good of a grip on him, so what ended up happening was rather comical, considering that he pushed himself back and she ended up flopping to the floor.

As far as first impressions went, not the worse he'd had.

Dremmus jumped back again just as the vampire regained her footing. As she turned around to look at him, Dremmus was unsurprised to see that the look in her eyes had changed – whereas before it had been both surprised and slightly panicked, now there was just hunger. That, and indignant rage.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a good idea to grope her ass when he'd been complimenting her. Still… so worth it.

Dremmus grinned at the vampire. "Careful there, you've been asleep for some time I'd imagine- might wanna get the cobwebs out of your head before you do anything." The grin became mischievous. "Hell, there might be _actual_ cobwebs for all I know in that empty skull of yours-"

The vampire lunged, jumping at him with her hands outstretched and becoming a blur with how fast she moved. Dremmus simply kneeled and placed one hand between the valley of her breasts and the other at her crotch before throwing her over him. The vampire, in an astounding display of flexibility and nimbleness, managed to twist herself in midair so that she landed on her feet.

When she looked at him this time, there was less hunger, but more rage. Good – Rage he could calm by beating up the person, hunger, not so much. And he had no qualms of beating up a vampire, woman or no.

…Okay, he didn't feel completely comfortable beating her up. "Defeating her in combat" sounded a lot better though.

The vampire screamed her rage, baring her fangs at him, and Dremmus leaned back. "Ew. You spit at me. That's disgusting." He wrinkled his nose. "Seriously, when was the last time you brushed your teeth- oof!"

Eyes wide, Dremmus was more than surprised when the fist planted itself in his gut. By the time his back had impacted against the tomb he'd opened all of the air had already been expelled from his lungs. Sliding down the side onto his knees, he wheezed, his lungs greedily sucking in the air he'd lost as the vampire _blurred_ into sight right in front of him.

His hand snapped out and caught the foot headed for his groin with a loud _slap_. When he looked up at red eyes, the surprise was back in her eyes. As it should be – his move was even faster than her kick.

Not letting go of her foot, he stood up, kicking at her knee in the process. With a surprised yelp, the vampire fell to earth, but Dremmus wasn't able to capitalize on the moment since she immediately rolled away from him. Her roll shifted into a couple of backflips that would have honestly impressed Dremmus if he'd seen them, but he'd also taken the small respite to back away and recover his sword.

Dremmus drew the sword with one hand, throwing away the sheath. Twirling it in his grip, he spun it twice, once around his right side and once around his left before gripping the sword securely with one hand, his left hand slightly outstretched towards the vampire while the sword was held diagonally behind his body.

The vampire's gaze, again, had changed. Now, her hunger was gone completely, replaced by cool determination and restrained rage. Her eyes narrowed in her focus towards him, and Dremmus smiled – _finally_ a challenge that would test his limits. That being said, he would not insult her by showing anything less than the same amount of focus she would bring to the upcoming fight, and so his eyes narrowed onto her.

The vampire reached into her attire, which Dremmus now noticed was cut in a fairly utilitarian fashion and included a pair of black trousers – the Thief in him pointed out that as a noblewoman, they were probably her idea of simple travel clothes. The lace cuffs of her sleeves and the embroidery covering the black, corset-like top snuggly hugging her narrow waist somewhat ruined the effect however. The top of small, almost perfectly round breasts (gentleman he may be, but he was _still_ a man) peeked through a narrow gap between the bodice and the garment she had on underneath, while a thick collar doubled with some kind of grey material encircled her throat. Her shoulders were covered with a lightweight black cape, pinned to her chest by a dark, strangely gleaming brooch in the form of something Dremmus had seen before, long ago.

 _It looks like the shrine of Bal,_ he thought, _Molag Bal. Daedric Prince of Domination and Mortal Enslavement. Figures – he's also the patron god of vampires._

Dremmus' eyes shined with the promise of a challenge as he looked back at the vampire's face – only to blanch when her eyes were narrowed in anger again. _She thinks I was checking her out,_ he realized. The thought only served to amuse him. _Well, the angrier she is, the more mistakes she'll make. Love, let's dance._

Dremmus made the first move with a Shout: " _Wuld!_ " Using all the speed he could muster in combination with the Shout, he blurred forwards, swinging the Ebony Blade in an upwards swing. The golden dagger that the vampire had pulled out of her cloak was hastily pulled out of the way, along with the rest of her body as the vampiress jumped backwards, her eyes wide in surprise once more. Dremmus followed through with the momentum of his attack, the sword traveling around and above his head, and this time the Blade fell in a downwards swing that the vampire had no choice but to block.

The dagger, whatever it was made out of, held, though Dremmus was unsurprised to see that the Ebony Blade had actually _cut into_ it without receiving any damage of its own. The vampire retaliated by kicking his chest, and Dremmus followed through with the movement, jumping back just in time to catch the vampire's own attack.

And so the dance began.

Dremmus and the vampire shared an advantage that set them above other mortals and most immortal beings – speed. With speed, also came strength, and if their enemies had been any other person they'd have quickly defeated them within less than a second; after all, it's hard to defend yourself against someone who can move so fast they're practically blurs while hitting so hard common steel can _break_ trying to block their hits.

Therein, however, lied a disadvantage that both the vampire and Dremmus were just discovering – superior speed was only so good against someone who can move slower than you. Against someone that can move at the same speed you're moving at, the disadvantage you had suddenly dissipates like smoke in the wind. Neither Dremmus nor the vampiress had been faced against anyone that had similar strength to themselves, and so the only thing they had left was skill.

And it was in skill that Dremmus _dominated_ the vampiress.

And she knew it too. As she barely managed to fend off Dremmus' attacks, the man himself smiled in satisfaction. He was pushing her, he knew, just as she was pushing him. Or would be – there was something under this woman's skin that he sincerely hoped she would bring out. Being a demigod in a land of mortals was boring – even dragon combat barely excited him these days.

In other words, life bored him. This vampire, this beautiful goddess of a woman, was the most exciting thing he'd encountered since his battle with Alduin, a battle that only set his heart pumping because of how many near-deaths he'd had from his disease during the fight. But _this_ fight – this fight was different. _Would_ be different, as soon as the vampiress was given a chance to show her strength where it was due.

And it seemed that at some level, she understood that. Even though her skills were not as good as his when it came to wielding a blade, she was no slouch, and so at some point of the fight she'd begun the most complicated series of attacks that Dremmus had ever encountered. Flowing from one pose to another, Dremmus was surprised by how well-paced and controlled each attack was. Hell, he was even defending himself against moves he'd never defended against, and he found himself _learning_ from her, just as she was learning from _him_. Even though his sword always stopped her dagger, she was matching his actions with effortless grace.

Engaged in a fiery dance, their bodies were linked and separated by the flashing blades. At times they nearly touched, taut skin only a hair's breadth away, but then momentum would whirl them apart, and they would withdraw for a split-second, only to join again. Their sinuous forms wove together like twisting ropes of windblown smoke, and Dremmus couldn't help but laugh in happiness, smiling widely in pure joy. An emotion, he couldn't help but notice, that was reciprocated by the vampire, since she too had a wide smile.

She was a lot prettier when she smiled.

It was then that the pace of the fight changed. The vampire in one of her attacks had switched the grip on her dagger, shifting it so that it was in an icepick grip rather than a hammer grip. Mid switch she had swung, aiming at Dremmus's arm where right arm became wrist. Dremmus had instead shifted his already incoming swing, pulling his blade slightly in towards himself, and caught her dagger with the sharp edge of his sword.

With a loud high-pitched screech, the already-battered dagger was cut clean through, and the vampire spun away, back-flipping until she was several meters away. Dremmus let her, since he could use the moment to rest a little. That was when he truly noticed that the fight had definitely changed – now it was for simple enjoyment, whereas before rage and other emotions had been the cause.

Still, it wouldn't do to lose focus. Breathing rather heavily, Dremmus grinned at the vampire. "You're good," he said, speaking for the first time in minutes (hours? Who knew- hell, who _cared?_ ). "No, better than good, you're _amazing_. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

The vampire returned his grin, also breathing heavily as he was. "I… I've had a lot of tutors throughout my youth," she said in a voice that was both low and throaty with a hint of huskiness, as if the feeling of hot liqueur sliding down one's throat was given sound. Her accent, he couldn't recognize, but for some reason it reminded him of the wind chimes that his mother had made in his youth – bright and melodious, like she was about to burst into song. The vampire kept speaking in that _heavenly_ voice, "It's not my forte though – I prefer magic over the blade."

Dremmus laughed once. "I could tell," he said, walking over to the sheath of his sword. "It's in your hands, your posture – you're used to fighting, but those hands look too soft, too unused wielding a blade. Still, your body says you know how to fight, and fighting with magic is as much an art as swordplay is." Dremmus put the tip of his boot under the sheath, flipped it upwards, and caught it before sheathing his sword. "I hope that I'm lucky enough to experience that today," he added, clipping the sheath to his waist.

The vampire laughed. Dremmus's previous impression of wind chimes was only solidified. "You flatter me," she said. "If anyone deserves praise, it's you. Your heart still beats, and your skin is healthy – you are as human as they come. For you to be able to keep up with me…"

"That would be telling," said Dremmus, winking at her. "Anyways… before we continue, I uh…" Dremmus cleared his suddenly-thick throat. "I… well, it's kind of awkward to call you 'the vampiress' all the time in my head." He smiled at her, walking forwards until he was at the halfway point between the two and held out his hand. "I'm Dremmus. Dremmus Rahjoore, at your service."

The vampiress blinked at the change in conversation before walking over to him. When she smiled this time, it was happy and friendly. "I'm Serana," she said, taking his hand. Cold as it was, Dremmus never felt more warmth in his life. "Serana of the Volkihar Clan."

"Serana…" Dremmus tested the name, noting how it seemed to flow right off of his tongue. It too, was art, just like the rest of her. "Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you, Serana."

Serana's smile became a tad brighter. "Likewise," she said.

They shook hands. When they let go, they began to walk backwards away from each other until both were at least ten paces away from the other. They shifted into their poses, preparing themselves: Dremmus with his knees bent, right foot forward, left hand gripping the sheath of his sword and right hand gripping the sword itself, while Serana bent her knees and leaned forwards slightly as she channeled magical energies into her hands; her right hand was beginning to take on a bluish tinge as the cold in the room was sapped towards it, frost gathering on her fingers as her left hand was covered by viciously crackling strands of lightning, the arcs jumping between her fingers and down her wrist with a keening whine that drowned out the sound of running water.

For a moment, they were silent. Then, Serana made the first move, but perhaps it was simply for the dramatic effect as it wasn't an attack. Still, there was something to be said about the impression she made when the frost in her right hand began to coalesce into a Icy Spear that was so long even a dragon wouldn't dare use it as a toothpick; the damn thing was at least four feet long and five inches thick.

Dremmus gave no visible reaction, though Serana was able to notice that his eyes were locked onto the spear. She smirked, and suddenly released the magic built up in her _left_ hand, launching a bolt of lightning that shrieked from its intensity as it flew towards Dremmus.

 _That_ drew a reaction from him, but it wasn't anything that she expected. The man waited, patiently, and when the bolt was a few feet away, he drew his sword in a flash-

 _And cut right through the lightning bolt._

Serana couldn't help it – her surprise turned her voice into a frightened squeak. To have the reaction speed to actually _cut lightning in half_ was something she'd never even heard of, much less seen. It was both awesome and terrifying, and the next thing she knew Serana had launched the Spear of Ice at Dremmus and was already preparing a second, this time using both hands.

Dremmus was prepared for this move too, as by the time she'd launched the second spear he'd cut through the first just like he'd done with the lightning. This started a game of "Turn Dremmus into an icy pincushion" that he quite likely did not enjoy – Serana was a _much_ better spellcaster than she was a bladeswoman. It was a fact that Dremmus readily accepted, though he could've done without the demonstration of her magical abilities.

Or without the revival of the corpses he'd fought earlier.

 _Okay,_ he thought, _I_ might've _chewed off more than I can bite for once_. Whirling, he caught an undead thrall's sword with his own that came from behind him, spinning around and using the undead as a meat shield for Serana's next ice barrage. Flowing from undead to undead, Dremmus quickly dispatched the summons, circling around the small arena the island had become until he was able to take some cover behind the tomb Serana had been sealed in, clumps of ash remaining from the zombies.

Panting now, Dremmus wiped the sweat off of his forehead. He _knew_ he'd crossed a line when he'd surrounded his sword with a light film of earth to make his little light show with the lightning. The magicka that the spell had required hadn't been much, true, but he'd been already so tired that his heart had stuttered on him after the lightning dispersed. _This_ was where he could actually lose to Serana – the woman was a _vampire_ , and a kind of vampire he'd never seen before. Other vampires couldn't move as fast as her, much less fight as long as she did. Seriously, did this woman ever get tired?

The more perverted side of him thought that that might actually be a good thing in bed.

Chuckling slightly at the direction his thoughts had taken, he peeked slightly around the tomb, only to draw his head back so that it wouldn't get fried by a blast of lightning. He winced, noticing how his reactions had slowed down, only for his eyes to catch on something bright that was on the inside of Serana's Tomb-

Dremmus actually gaped at the thing. Unbeknownst to him, the reaction his body had was much more severe. His knees began to shake as his heart clenched, fear striking the depths of a soul whose origin predated that of _joor_ , of mortals. Lying tucked into a corner of the tomb was a large, heavily jeweled golden cylinder, capable of feats beyond mortal comprehension – an Elder Scroll.

 _Mu los Dovah, nunon us faal Kel, mu motaad._ The words of Paarthurnax, the Elder Dragon that was Master of the Greybeards, resounded in Dremmus' mind then, as did their meaning: _We are Dragon, but before the Elder Scrolls, we tremble._

He'd explained why, of course. Paarthurnax had said that it was natural for those born with the dragon blood to feel uneasy in the presence of a piece of the divine.

" _Dovah,"_ he'd said, _"Dragons, unlike mortals, know and recognize our creators on a deeper level, understanding the gods that had sided with man in a way that dwarfed the knowledge of the most revered of priests. Dovah faas faal Kel. We know and fear what created us, and could grant the races of the world the power to destroy us. Ol nii fend kos."_

Dremmus swallowed nervously at the sight of the Scroll. Now that he knew it was there, there was a feeling of awareness, a tether that no matter what he did would tell him exactly where the Scroll was in the room. It was, as Paarthurnax said, an uneasy feeling.

He glanced around the area, attempting to look for Serana, but failed to find her. Knowing what he did about the Scrolls, there was no way he'd let this woman go without a proper explanation as to why the Scroll was sealed with her (though the Academic part of his mind wanted to grill her on any side-effects she may have suffered from prolonged exposure to the Scroll). That being said, he reached into the tomb and grabbed the strap of the Scroll-

Only for a feminine hand to grip his own, halting his progress.

Dremmus looked up at Serana. Her eyes had a new emotion in them – panic, fear. They were ugly on her, he noticed – happiness and joy brought out her eyes and made them shine like rubies.

"Please," she said. "I… You're different. I can tell. Please, hear me out before jumping to conclusions."

Dremmus hesitated before answering. "That's a bit hard, considering the circumstances," he said.

"I know how bad it looks," she admitted, "but please – I don't know how long I've been sealed in here, and I don't know what's happened since my sealing. You're the first person I've met since waking up, and I count myself lucky that you were able to defend yourself against my hunger." Serana blinked before her expression turned apologetic. "Umm, about that… I'm sorry. I really wasn't in a right state of mind-"

"I noticed," said Dremmus dryly. "Why do you think I did the things I did? Anger and rage are a lot easier to deal with than animalistic hunger." He paused, before grinning mischievously at her. "Though I'll have to disappoint if you expect me to apologize for my wandering hands. I do _not_ regret that. At all."

Serana glared at him, though he could see the corners of her lips twitching from fighting a smile. "Well… at least you're honest. Anyways, the Scroll. I've been sealed away with it to _protect it_ , to keep it from falling in the hands of… someone. And… I can't tell you who."

"Because you don't trust me," Dremmus concluded.

"Oh, no, I do! Just… not that much." Serana shrugged. "At least you're taking the time to talk to me instead of panicking and stabbing me with a sword."

Dremmus nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "Still, I can't just let you walk out there with an Elder Scroll on your back."

Serana scowled. "Asking 'why not' would be ridiculous," she said. "I mean, I understand where you're coming from… that doesn't mean I like it." She sighed. "Well… at the very least I need to figure out how things stand, at least when it comes to my family."

"Immortals like you?"

"Some of them. Most of them," admitted Serana.

 _Volkihar_ Clan _. Right, forgot that tidbit._ "Do they know about the Scroll?" he asked.

"…Yes."

"You're not really helping your case," Dremmus pointed out.

Serana winced. "I know," she said before sighing. "I don't want to fight you over this. I mean, the fight just now was fun and all, but nothing serious…"

Dremmus raised his eyebrows, surprised. Sure, she'd been smiling when they'd fought, but that could've been a response to his own laughter. Go figure.

And now she was giving him this downtrodden look, like he'd kicked a puppy or something- wait, _puppy eyes?_ She was giving him _puppy eyes!?_

"Please?" she asked, her eyes wide and watery. Godsdamn, the eyes were _devastating_ on his resolve. "Please let me go with the scroll?"

Dremmus looked down at her with wide eyes, absently noting that he was a couple of inches taller than her. A moment later he sighed, closing his eyes. _This is so unfair_ , he thought. _She practically_ oozes _sex appeal- no, she's actual_ sex on legs _, and then she goes and pulls this on me. Me and my saving-people-thing. And pretty women. I'm_ so _not telling Elisif about today._

… _though from the looks of how things are going to end up,_ Serana _will be the one to tell her._

He opened his eyes. "Okay," he said, "I'll make you a deal. I'll let you go with the Scroll – but only if you let me come with you."

Serana straightened in surprise. "Wait- what?"

He nodded. "I'll go with you," he repeated. "Hell, I'll even walk you right up to your family's front door. These vampires, the ones back there," he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at the clumps of ash that remained from the resurrected vampires and thralls, "they came with orders from the Volkihar Clan. _Your_ clan. If you think I'm going to allow an Elder Scroll to fall in the hands of one of the most notorious vampire covens in the history of man, _at least_ without judging the situation, then you're mistaken.

"Besides," he added, "things have changed around here. _A lot._ You might get lost, and it's only fair that I make sure that doesn't happen. Skyrim is dangerous, especially during wartime."

Serana rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, as if war is that big a thing," she said. "Let me guess, territory? A slighted noble?"

"Um, no, more like a Civil War with Independence from the Empire," said Dremmus.

"…Empire?" asked Serana, confused. "What Empire?"

"…the Cyrodillic Empire," said Dremmus, looking at her with wide eyes. "Holy shit Serana, how long have you been in that prison?"

Serana actually looked worried. "I don't know," she said. "Much longer than I'd thought, definitely. Cyrodil was _not_ the seat of an Empire when I was locked up."

"Do you remember the year?"

Serana frowned. "I think it was the Second Era of Man," she said. "The Reman Dynasty had already lost power, and the Akaviri were in power… Savirien Chorak's father had just been assassinated…"

Dremmus' eyes hadn't lost their wide look. " _Gosvern avok_ ," he breathed. "Serana, Savirien Chorak took power during the final years of the Reman Empire in the Second Era, the year three-twenty-four. Today we're in the year two-hundred-three… in the _Fourth_ Era of Man.

"Serana… you've been imprisoned for more than four thousand, two hundred years."

… **ooOoo…**

 **For Dremmus' original sword pose just before the fight with Serana starts – think of Sword Art Online. It's Kazuto Kirigaya's stance when he fights his sister Suguha, the one that she comments is full of weak spots.**

 **Translations:**

 _Mu los Dovah, nunon us faal Kel, mu motaad – We are Dragon, but before the Elder Scrolls, we tremble._

 _Dovah faas faal Kel – Dragons fear the Elder Scrolls._

 _Ol nii fend kos – As it should be._

 _Gosvern avok – Heavens above._


End file.
